Masquerade
by ilexx
Summary: Set right after 'The Prince' in S2.


Obviously I don't owe anything.

And it is something Mary Rose wanted... (Badly...)

**Masquerade**

„You're joking!"

Dylan Hunt looked at his weapons' officer with wide, incredulous eyes.

„One week of parties culminating in a masked ball lasting three days to celebrate the coronation?"

The large Nietzschean shrugged his shoulders, the tone of his voice matching his indifferent attitude:

„Monarchy, Dylan," Tyr Anasazi answered lazily, „is all about tradition. It represents tradition and survives by it. Tradition means protocol, rituals, show."

The _Andromeda_'s captain sighed wearily.

„Yes, I know. But one week..." Annoyed, he blew out some air from a corner of his mouth. „And a masked ball! Do we have to stick around to witness the entire procedure?"

The other man watched him silently, carefully weighing his words before answering.

„Dylan, are you familiar with ancient Earth history?"

„With some of it, yes."

„The end of Sweden's Wasa-dynasty?"

Dylan's eyes narrowed, a deep frown appearing between his brows.

„What's Sweden?"

The Nietzschean looked annoyed.

„I do suggest, Captain, that you try to fill the gaps of your education as soon as possible. It might come in handy while rebuilding this Commonwealth of yours," he said, his voice drenched with superiority.

„I'll see what I can do," the Vedran replied in a mild tone, too tired to take the bait and show his anger. „Why don't you try to help me along in the meantime?"

„The Wasa were Sweden's royal family - that was an independent state, by the way. They ruled for centuries, becoming either weak and soft or brutal and hasty in the process. The last ones of them became also mad, displayed illusions of grandeur that nearly destroyed the country. Tradition had it that the king had to organize a masked ball each year, showing off the wealth and splendour of his court."

„Fascinating," Dylan commented dryly. „And the point is...?"

„The point is that the aristocrats killed one of those kings. He found himself surrounded by masks and stabbed to death during his last ball."

The captain shrugged.

„A coincidence. They could have killed them on other occasions, too, I suppose."

„They could have," Tyr conceded, „but they haven't. Masks hide you not only from others, but also from yourself. There is no way to tell how someone might act protected by the incognito a mask provides."

He let his words sink in with the High Guard, silently observing the changing expressions on his captain's face.

„And you think that our presence there would keep Eric safe during his first ball?" Dylan finally inquired.

„I think **your** presence there - and the _Andromeda_ orbiting Ne-Holland - would show exactly how important an ally we consider him to be. And I further think that **my** presence there would keep him safe."

„Very well, then. Let's do this. But," the captain said, a warning undertone in his voice, „I won't dress up in some stupid costume."

A slight ironic smile appeared on the Nietzschean's lips.

„You are wearing a 300-year-old Commonwealth High Guard uniform on a daily basis. You don't _need_ to dress up in some stupid costume."

„Very funny, Tyr, hilarious, really..."

-

Beka Valentine's patience was growing thinner by the minute. This was only the first night of the masked ball, but she had expected things to loosen up more quickly. The first parties of the week had been stiff, pretentious, pompous affairs and she had hoped for the fun to kick in sooner once the costumes and masks were out in the open. As it was, the Ne-Hollanders seemed rather slow though in their urge to finally start to party.

She shivered lightly in her dark-blue silk dress, that was loosily flowing down her legs in a knee-long skirt wide enough for running, revealing a tight pair of black pants underneath. She twitched upon suddenly noticing a large figure in a hooded black cloak leaning against a column next to her. The man was wearing a skeleton mask and an enormous double-sword he carried with disturbing dexterity.

„I believe, Tyr," she then said in a mildly ironic tone, quickly regaining her composure, „that Death is traditionally carrying a scythe."

„Me, I am however traditionally better with swords," he answered coldly.

Beka nodded.

„Remind me again what I'm supposed to be doing here," she then said annoyed.

„Well, you are supposed to keep Dylan safe, while I'm keeping Eric safe," Tyr replied sharply. „Something you don't do very good, if may say so. How do you think you could help him from this distance? You should consider staying closer to him..."

„Oh, really?"Beka asked sarcastically. „That might be a bit tricky at the moment, wouldn't you agree? Besides: he seems rather comfortable with the situation..." she added, cocking her head into Dylan Hunt's direction, whose table - situated at the other end of the spacious room - was crowded with an incredibly large number of more or less attractive women - as far as one could tell under those cloaks and masks. He didn't seem to mind.

„He won't be so comfortable anymore once one of the lovely ladies implants a knive between his shoulderblades."

Beka looked at him from the side, mild surprise in her eyes.

„My, you do have strange ideas on what balls are supposed to be about!"

„Beka," Tyr sighed concerned, „we... **Dylan** is here to make a statement: that the New Commonwealth is with Eric on this one. While this statement keeps Eric safe, it doesn't exactly improve our resident idealist's chances of survival. Stay close to him and watch him."

„Easier said than done," Beka admitted quietly, finally accepting Tyr's point of view as one of founded concern.

„Well, find a way!" Anasazi hissed softly. „I've got to get back to Eric." And he disappeared, leaving Rebekkah Valentine alone again under her column.

-

Dylan was getting bored - and tired. As much as he appreciated female company: he preferred conversations to small-talk and flirting with one person to impressing many. He felt like he hadn't spoken to just one person in days, and as skilled as he was by now in delivering jokes and bonmots at regular pace... letting out the party lion in him was still quite an effort. With a quick smile he rose to his feet, using the opportunity of one of his companions wanting a drink to excuse himself and withdraw to the bar, thereby gaining at least a few moments to himself, although he still had to lightly bow and smile mechanically to the left and right while gently forcing his way through the crowds.

As he returned to his table with the drinks a couple of minutes later, he found his seat taken by a woman he couldn't recall to have seen earlier. She seemed tall and slim, with dark, chin-long curls and a huge dark mask in sharp contrast to her almost blood-red, generous lips and strikingly pale skin - what little he could see of it. Her eyes beneath her mask were also dark, almost black and met his inquiring gaze straightforward, anchoring themselves deep within his own. It was less of an introduction and more of a challenge. One that he found himself unable to ignore.

„You're sitting on my chair," Dylan told her.

„You make this sound like Snow-White..." she told him in a low deep voice displaying some foreign accent he couldn't quite figure out.

„You look the part," Dylan complimented her, good-humoredly.

„You don't," she said, measuring him from head to toe.

He couldn't help laughing.

„I don't have to be a dwarf. Maybe I'm the prince..." he joked.

„Maybe," she conceded smiling.

It was only then that Dylan finally noticed that the others had left the table, leaving the two of them alone. He sat down on one of the chairs left vacant and offered her the spare drink. She accepted and thanked him with a nod.

„So..." he then said, his voice betraying his curiosity, „why are you here? Out of curiosity? By accident?"

„Accident?" she asked, laughing her deep laugh again. „I don't think so..." And then she simply drowned her drink and stood up from the table. He had been right: she was slim and tall... and graceful.

„It's getting late. Will I see you tomorrow night?" she asked him slowly.

„I don't know," he answered truthfully. „But you do. Will you?"

„Maybe," she said again. „See you tomorrow, then - probably..." And was gone.

-

For the first time this week Dylan no longer tried to squirm his way out of the party. He came in early, took his place next to Eric, greeted everybody as graciously as humanly possible... and finally sighed relieved when he found himself on his own at last. Contrary to previous nights he didn't look for a quiet table, but walked through the halls looking for her, his eyes darting about, yet unable to find her.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he finally felt an arm sliding under his...

„There you are..." he heard the deep, foreign voice.

Looking down on her Dylan found himself once again pulled into the dark depths of her eyes, rather unable to draw back. Before he could find anything to say, he felt himself being dragged along, her hand strongly gripping his lower arm and leading him out of the halls and into the colorful, joyous streets.

She called some vehicle for hire and pushed him inside, whispering some indications into the pilot's ear. The address didn't mean anything to Dylan, and for a brief moment he wondered about his willingness to follow her. He didn't even know her name, for God's sake! Yet he refrained from asking any questions whatsoever, relaxing into the silence and into the warmth of her body, pressed against his.

They quickly arrived at a luxurious compound, a hotel of some sort and, as before, he just contented himself to follow her in silence, even though he wondered what exactly it was she wanted from him. It quickly became clear, however, after reaching their pitch-dark room.

She wanted it all.

„Tell me..." he tried to say, reaching for the mask, while they were febrily undressing each other.

She averted her head.

„No!" she ordered sharply and he obeyed.

She wanted just about everything... like there was no tomorrow. Like they had just one night. Everything. Immediately. Everything or nothing at all... No questions asked. And out of the question to go further than that. Just a wonderful little story, not meant to last... He could take it or leave it. Then and there...

He took it.

-

The mid-day cannons woke him up. He rolled around in the large bed, his hands searching for her and finding nothing but a huge pillow, his arms embracing but her perfume.

Dylan jerked up, his eyes frantically roaming through the room and finding it empty. Jumping out of the bed, he began looking for his clothes. Everything was there, exactly where he had rid himself of it the previous night. She'd taken nothing from him with her. Down in the hall he even found out that the bill for the room had also been paid. She'd taken nothing - and yet he felt as if she'd stolen everything. He actually would have preferred to find out that she'd taken something. He then at least would have understood.

On his way back to the spaceport he felt a bit like crying but managed to pull himself together.

He spent the day sorting out his memories, trying to safely pocket them away and promising himself that - if he would cross her path again that night - he'll find a way to prevent the morning to ever dawn again... Smiling about his schoolboy-crush on her, but indulging in it.

Once he was on his own that evening he started looking for her, searching the halls and then heading for the streets, no longer colorful but grey, no longer filled with joyous people but noisy, shadowy crowds moving in a hurry... Much too fast to get a proper look... Still: he kept looking everywhere for those black eyes of hers. A couple of times he thought he spotted her, but each time he lost the figure he had been following in the maddening crowd...

He never saw her again...

-

„I thought you were meant to watch Dylan," Tyr said reproachfully to Beka. They were all on Command and on their way to Sinti after having left Eric safely enthroned and starting government business.

„Why do you think I didn't?" Beka asked, one of her eyebrows arched menacingly.

„He disappeared every night for hours after the official part was over," Tyr stated accusingly. „You were supposed to keep him safe..."

„He is safe, Tyr. Look, he stands over there, safe and sound and in one piece. You're Nietzschean, your eyes are superior and everything, surely you can spot him while standing a couple of meters away from you," the _Maru_'s captain answered ironically and then just left him standing at his console.

„Dylan," she said loud after occupying her place at the _Andromeda_'s pilot station, „ready for slipstream?"

„Go, Beka," he acknowledged, gripping his console tightly.

It was a smooth, uncomplicated ride. Afterwards, as their shift was over, both the captain and his XO headed for the doors.

„Well done, Beka!" Dylan curtly remarked as he caught up with her, placing one hand on her shoulder. Her discreet scent tickled his nose, calling up vague memories. She laughed her deep, carnal laugh. It was becoming familiar to him, by now. Too familiar. It stopped him in his tracks, while she went forward. She hesitated at the doors.

„You coming?" she asked casually, turning around and looking at him. He was staring at her, wide-eyed.

„Beka...?" he stammered lowly. The blue eyes looked at him with a friendly smile from under her mop of chin-long blond curls.

„Dylan, what's the matter? Not hungry anymore?"

„Beka." He said it slowly, no longer questioning. _There is no way to tell how someone might act protected by the incognito a mask provides. _Tyr's words were echoing in his mind. He shook his head. **_No way!_**

„I'm coming. So: how did you spend your time on Ne-Holland?"


End file.
